


Vanishing Soul

by Angelwire



Series: From Artifice [3]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Flirting, Gen, Nonbinary Character, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Sparring, Threats, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21736660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelwire/pseuds/Angelwire
Summary: The paranoia is really starting to get to you, even as Charge's flirting makes short work of your emotional walls. This was certainly not something your prior 'work' had trained you for, and you're not sure you'll ever get used to it.
Relationships: Ortega/Sidestep (Fallen Hero)
Series: From Artifice [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1499456
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

"Step right on in, missy," offers a self-pleased Ortega, holding open one of the double doors for you to walk through.

"How chivalrous," you mutter snidely.

By all accounts, today was looking to be quite nice. The weather was about as pleasant as it ever got, there had been no major disturbances, and Ortega had invited you back for another sparring session. You really look forward to these, in spite of all the protests. So, indeed, by all accounts, you should have been having a good time right now. If only this damn paranoia would leave you be for five seconds.

Out of nervous habit, your eyes comb over the interior as the two of you enter. More or less as you remember it. Nothing amiss. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to warrant this creeping dread lightly present at the back of your mind. Sometimes you just have days like this, you guess? Bad mental health doesn't wait for anything else to strike. Exhaling loudly, you resolve yourself to focus only on Ortega and try to enjoy yourself again.

"Everything alright?"

"Mm?" you return your gaze to the woman leading you in. "Yeah. Sorry. Just a little wound up, I think."

"Well, I've got just the thing for relieving stress," Ortega turns and grins smugly at you. "Are you gonna keep the mask on for this?"

Scratching idly at the part of your arm you'd prefer forgetting, you push down the remnants of your anxiety telling you how bad of an idea it is to show your face when someone is looking at you. It's just Ortega. You trust her now; you already showed her, and everything was okay. In fact, it was more than okay? You almost want to say she's getting even friendlier with you now that you've taken that latest step, showing her your face and name. Thinking back on it, you're proud you were able too. And happy. Happy to be here right now.

Your lips quirk upwards into a grin of your own, an expression you promptly reveal by pulling the mask off. "Guess I don't need to anymore, huh?"

"That's true. You'll always be safe with me... Serra."

A shiver races up your spine. The way she looked you over, the way she tasted your name on her lips, you were unable to suppress your natural reaction to it. Is it a blessing or a curse you can't read Ortega's mind right now? Now, as she chuckles infuriatingly to herself, surely making note of the flush blazing beneath your cheeks. Oh, you are so damn obvious. You're obvious and she sees everything.

"Don't- don't make me regret this," you bristle defensively. Somehow that just gets her to laugh a bit harder.

"Hey, sorry, sorry," she doesn't look sorry at all as she eyes you more closely, "didn't know you were sensitive about it."

"About what?"

"About how cute you look when you blush."

The sheer force of your embarrassment nearly barrels you over, but you somehow manage to keep it tamped down by hugging your arms around yourself. The sensation grounds you even as your head spins with all the possibilities, possibilities you have no way of confirming on your own thanks to her inconvenient immunity to your talents. Or maybe it's better this way? If you _could_ read her, you'd be able to see how little this means to her, how plain or even ugly you are to a woman like her, how much she simply enjoys rattling you.

You take up your stance without gracing her tease with a response. Ortega rolls her shoulders, the smugness thick over her features as she enters her own stance. Not just because you were blatantly flustered by her, of course. You still hadn't managed to actually _beat_ her yet. That was a bit of a blow to your pride, admittedly, but having an outlet for your stress more than made up for it. Plus, you know, the other things. Like how excited you got every time your bodies came into contact with each other. You only prayed you weren't enough of an open book for her to see _that_ part of you, as well.

Before you had much more of a chance to worry yourself into an early grave, Ortega makes good on her name and charges at you. She's fast. Even if you can't read her mind, though, you're starting to pick up on how she likes to move, how she responds to your own tricks, all sorts of little details progressing from mere note to instinctual reply. Getting faster. When she closes the gap, you sidestep; when she sweeps, you know where to jump to; when she throws a punch, you know how to block; it's not enough to actually get the upper hand on her, but you're starting to keep up. That's something to be proud of, you think.

"Getting better, Sidestep!" Ortega notes as she weaves just out of range of your fist. "You're doing great!"

"I don't need your encouragement," you protest, grunting a bit at the exertion of finally pressing an offense. "You're not my mom." Just like you're getting used to her, Ortega seems to be learning about you more and more. You can see it in her eyes. She pays less attention to your moves and more attention to- to- christ, what even _is_ she looking at?

"I'm glad-" her fingers clasp firmly around your wrist, your guard almost completely down as you throw the punch, "-that you finally recognize that."

Your breath catches in your throat briefly. "But you're still old enough to be her."

"Ouch," she chuckles softly, not looking nearly offended enough to keep you safe in this position. No, even worse, Ortega is pulling you in closer, and with your wrist captive like this, you have no choice but to comply. By now, the two of you had worked up a healthy sweat, but that isn't the reason you almost squirm at her touch.

"You don't look hurt," your words come secondary to the blatant inspection of her face. The face that's getting closer.

"I'm not. It's all fun and games, right? Well," another yank nearly sends you stumbling into her, "not with you. You're a more pure sort of fun, Serra."

"What- what sense does that even make?" Ortega is essentially holding you now. At first it was to compensate for your lack of balance, make sure you didn't fall thanks to her tugging you in, but now you're not at any risk of faceplanting into anything. And she's still keeping you close like this. Staring into your eyes as if she were beholding a beautiful object (no, don't call yourself that, _please_ ). As if it... you... were actually worth something.

"This isn't a game to me. But it is fun," she states plainly, as if that makes it any clearer.

"But what _is_ this?"

Her head quirks to the side, bemused. "Seems like flirting to me."

"Well... seems like that to me, too," you keep your eyes averted now. "Just don't understand why."

"This is why."

Your heart skips a beat as her free hand presses against your cheek, only for her to lean in and finish you off entirely with a kiss. An actual, honest-to-god kiss, on your lips, breath frozen just as time seems to be for you. Ortega doesn't seem to notice or care about the way you tense up, but you're grateful for that. As impossible as it feels to even begin working through the emotions burning in your veins right now, as painfully as your heart beats each second she keeps the contact up, you're desperately glad for it on some level.

On all the other levels, it seems you're utterly terrified.

She's the one to pull away first, on account of how little you're able to move right now. Concern seeps across her features as she takes in your expression, drawing an immediate pang of shame from you, and you quickly begin composing yourself again.

"I'm sorry," you step back a bit too hastily, focused on maintaining as calm a demeanor as possible.

"Did I misunderstand?" asks Ortega. "I thought-"

"No, I'm- I'm not saying no. I'm not, but... are you serious?"

Her expression is the perfect picture of innocent confusion. "Why would I not be serious?"

"I mean, you seriously- you want to kiss me? You _like_ me?"

"Uh, yes?"

You pull your arms in again, try to look less pathetic as they cross around your torso. Christ why does she have to be completely unreadable. This is cruel. She has to be lying, right? You aren't the sort of thing- _person_ that gets to be loved. That's still true, perhaps, because it's still laughable to imagine _that._ Ortega simply wants to kiss your ugly face for some unknowable reason. That's all. Nothing else. And when you think of it like that, maybe it isn't so impossible to imagine.

"...Are you alright?" her voice picks back up.

A nod. A self-deprecating smirk. "Not really accustomed to being kissed, that's all."

"Well," her own smug grin returns, "guess we'll have to do something about that. Don't you think, Serra?"

This second time she treats your name with such reverence nearly unravels you, from the depths of your needy soul to the tips of your fingers which ache to reach out and touch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day...

You should have known. You should have _known_ kissing Ortega was a bad idea.

Anathema looks between the two of you, on this, what should have been just another day on the job, another sicko rearing their ugly head to the necessity of your employment. Anathema looks between you and she smirks that unholy smirk you fear so greatly.

"Great job out there, you two," she punches your shoulder lightly, shoots you a knowing glance.

"Great job, yourself," you awkwardly return the gesture. These expressions of friendship were still hard for you, admittedly, but you liked to think you were getting better. Certainly, you had ample opportunity for practice. Charge never gave you breathing room to begin with, and Anathema wasn't all that far behind in terms of aggressive friendliness. That's why you continued to work with _them_ and not with, say, Steel. That's also why you really wanted to make this work.

"Glad to see no one's injured," says Charge with a pleased expression. "Thanks for the save back there, Sidestep."

You can't help but nervously giggle a little to yourself. "Ehehe, uh, don't mention it."

"Yeah, don't want the girlfriend getting hurt, after all," a mischievous Anathema remarks, already strutting away towards the police cordon.

"Girlfriend?" Ortega's innocent tone echoes, just as you retreat a little further into the safety of your hood. Anathema is too far away for you to effectively dispel her obvious misconception without shouting something embarrassing, so unfortunately you're stuck.

"You- christ, why are you so _bad_ at hiding things, Ortega..."

"Me?" Her hand reaches to the back of her head. "Does that mean you didn't go off bragging that I kissed you?"

" _No_!"

"...Oh, I figured you did, the way she looked at us sometimes."

A harsh scoff comes from your throat. "You almost called me my name earlier, if you recall. _And_ you kept giving me that doe-eyed look..." you move to massage the bridge of your nose, an expression of exasperation if not something that actually helps. "There's no way Anathema wouldn't have noticed."

"Well..." Ortega crosses her arms as she regards you again, serious. "What, am I not supposed to even _look_ at you?"

"Not like that. We just kissed, nothing more. Right?"

"Look, let's not have this conversation in public..." the Marshal's attention shifts over to the nearby officers, and Anathema engaging with them. Was she trying to give you two some breathing room? How considerate. Unnecessary, but considerate. "Can't just leave Anathema to handle that, either."

A sigh. "I know."

"One of these days I'm going to convince you you're likeable, Serra," chuckles Ortega.

"Don't count on it."

"Can I count on some after-work drinks? Just us again, at HQ?"

Your eyes roam over the surroundings. Unusual that you were given even this much time to yourselves, most likely thanks to Anathema's efforts, but that wouldn't last all that much longer. The media would be here any second. You really didn't feel like dealing with them at the moment, not with how frazzled your emotions were, not with the possibility of having to deal with more rumors between you and Charge. There were already people convinced there was something romantic between the two of you ever since you started constantly working together, and something told you it would only get worse now that Charge was growing bolder. What happens if she flirts with you on camera? You die immediately? You die immediately.

"Later," you promise, hoping to avoid arguing over it. "I need to take care of some business. I can stop by around five?"

"Sure, sounds good. Take care of yourself." The smile Ortega gives you warms your heart more than a little bit. Thankfully, she gets less pushy about these things when you don't make a fuss about agreeing.

The two of you finally split away, she intercepting the chief of police and you making your way to the nearest alleyway to obscure your departure. Just in time, too, because a media van had just begun pulling up, and you know you wouldn't have been able to slip away so easily from them. Annoying. You couldn't handle this right now, damn it all.

Ducking behind the first dumpster you come across, you lean against its cold surface and keep yourself still. Take a deep breath. Hold yourself a little. The paranoia started coming back during the fight earlier, but nothing came of it. Didn't stop you from saving Charge's ass when it came right down to it, hah. And then it was all over, and the feeling was gone, but now it was creeping back in again. Since you left Ortega. What, was she keeping it at bay with her attention? Were you really that pathetic? Christ.

Wait. No, that wasn't it, that was-

Static.

"Oh dear. Don't tell me you're having a panic attack, my lovely vigilante."

Your head whips up to greet the sight of Eidolon's reflective 'face' staring right back at you. Even without an expression to supplement, their body language clearly conveyed an unassailable confidence that their mind only confirmed, arms crossed and hips cocked to one side. What the hell were they doing here? How did they find you? Skimming the surface of their thoughts provides little explanation, focused entirely on you as they are. Focused on you?

Eidolon's throaty laughter sounds out as you scramble sideways and put up your best attempt at a fighting stance. "Don't bother," they continue, "I'm not here to dance this time."

Your eyes narrow beneath the mask. That wasn't a lie; Eidolon really didn't have any hostile intentions. Slowly, you relax your stance, paying close attention to the continued placidity of their mind.

"What _are_ you here for, then?"

"I'm here to ask something of you, _Serra_." Your heart nearly stops.

"You- how-?"

"How?" they cut your questions off, still standing firmly in place. "I followed you, obviously. Watched you."

Suddenly it all clicks into place. All those mental impressions you kept receiving, the distant paranoia, feelings of being watched, it wasn't coming from you. It was Eidolon. Same as you experienced in that office building. And the fact that you had been experiencing so many recurrences lately meant that... Oh god.

"You... you saw... everything...?"

"I saw my lovely Marshal put the moves on you. I saw your face. I saw your _body_. I saw where you decide to live. I saw _how_ you live. Is that everything, just about?"

It's a wonder you stop yourself from shaking outright.

"Now, about my request," Eidolon takes a step towards you, then another, and you're still frozen in place. They lay a hand firmly on your shoulder. They lean in close, the edge of their hood scraping against yours. And they murmur, "The last piece of the puzzle. I want to know what the hell lets you fight me on even footing."

Your eyes widen slightly. That was genuine curiosity, there, mixed with a healthy dose of irritation. Even watching you, learning... learning _everything_ , everything to make you break out in a cold sweat and fear for your continued freedom and existence, they still couldn't figure this one last detail out. Eidolon seemed to have suspicions, but they wanted - no, _needed_ \- to know for certain. Was that why they watched you so closely? The violation of privacy would have given you shivers even without all the shameful, invalidating secrets you knew lurked in this villain's head now.

Eidolon could absolutely destroy you, and there was nothing you could do about it. Even for all your caution, even with how far you've come since the day you decided to slip away from your handlers forever, you still ended up beholden to someone like this. Your stomach twists itself into nauseating knots.

But... but something was weird. Eidolon. They should be different than this. You know very well how to differentiate between people who look at you like an object and people who look at you like a person, and nothing in Eidolon's thoughts betray a sliver of existential disdain for you. But they _know_ , right? That you are a... Re-Gene. Cuckoo. _Imposter_. They should have seen the tattoos if they'd been spying on you, plain marks of your inhumanity amidst the numerous scars. Then there was the matter of your gender, your lack of breasts and the presence of something obtrusive between your legs, more details they should have known already yet didn't seem to be coloring their perception of you.

Right now, the only thing Eidolon feels towards you is annoyance towards the fact that you could genuinely interfere, and the fact that they don't know how. They're hoping to scare you into satisfying that curiosity for them.

Their grip on your shoulder tightens. "I want my answer, Serra."

"Telepathy," you comply, gulping nervously. "I can read your surface thoughts."

A jolt of surprise races through them, followed up by hints of confirmation; it seems as if that was one of their guesses. Eidolon turns a brief consideration towards the fact that you're most likely reading them right now (of course you are), but the arrogance returns just a moment later. They still hold all the cards here, and they know it.

"Good girl." They pull away nonchalantly. "I'll be in touch."

It's a wonder you stop yourself from falling to your knees as a burst of static once again announces their departure.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That night...

The chills won't leave. You lay there, bundled up as safely as you can bear in the stifling heat, clutching at your own skin and willing yourself to just breathe in and out again. The lungs hardly comply. The chest tightens, screams. In a fit of impulse, you shift postures. Grant access. Your nails find fresh purchase in a small patch of unmarred skin, and they dig in viciously, flexing in waves 'til you register the dull, wet warmth of blood oozing out. Just the tiniest bit. It feels good, hurting yourself. Familiar. A pain you know to help mitigate the pain you can't possibly deal with. Too heavy. Are you hyperventilating? Are you crying?

A ringtone. Yours. Lazily your mind wraps around the conclusion, that you are being called, and several seconds pass before you remember the sense that makes. Right. Ortega. She said she might need to get in contact with you. She said you should give her your phone number. She looked at you quizzically when you said you'd get back to her, only to run off later and buy a burner phone to use for this purpose, to keep her close by. You thought it was safer than getting something more permanent, even if it wasn't as safe as you liked, but Ortega was grateful to be let in a little more. Thinking back, you wonder if she was hoping to get closer to you through it, considering she kissed you soon after.

But she wouldn't have kissed you if she knew what Eidolon knows.

That you're fake. Not a woman, not a human, not anything.

The phone stops ringing. For a moment, you're convinced that Ortega has finally realized your inherent lack of worth, but then it starts up again, two seconds later. You forcefully quiet the sound of your own breath before reaching over to answer.

"Serra?"

"That's, yep, that's me. Yeah. Um, hi." You don't sound nearly as composed as you hoped.

"Where are you? You said you'd be here an hour ago. Is everything alright?"

"...No."

"What happened?" she immediately asked, her concern seeping sickeningly through the speaker. You feel guilty for prompting such an emotion in someone. In her especially. Sure, she's trying to get close to you, but that means nothing. Julia Ortega has had plenty of partners before. You are, at best, a pleasant diversion, assuming she isn't lying about enjoying your lips. That doesn't give you the right to start relying on her emotionally. No, you shouldn't trust her with this in the first place. You should have just said everything's okay and that you're busy. Then, beep! End call! Why did you not do that!

"Serra, please," her voice comes again, "talk to me. We're friends, aren't we?"

Friends. Of course. Nothing else. In truth, not even that, because friends don't lie about their fundamental existences like you've been lying to Ortega, but she can at least remain in the hopeful lie of your humanity a bit longer. Until Eidolon blows the lid on what you are and brings your handlers in to reclaim their lost property.

But you still can't help confirming.

"N-nothing... nothing has changed there, right? With us?"

"What? I mean, I think something's changed." The words twist your stomach even with how soft her tone becomes. "I finally got to kiss you, after all."

If Ortega knows, if Ortega was told, she's not saying so. Of course, idiot. Why would she? But that means you can't tell if this is a trap, to lure you to Ranger HQ and gift wrap you for the Directive. For all you know, it could be. Ortega might... _might_... be that good of an actor, to fake her concern for you right now. Her _affection_.

What if it's not fake, though?

What if she really has started caring for you? Is that possible? Is it something you can afford to take a chance on?

"Hey, can- can I come over, still? I think I need to not be alone right now."

"Of course! Of course, I'm in my office. Do you want to get here on your own, or should I pick you up somewhere?"

You exhale slowly. "I'll get there myself. Tell the receptionist I'll be coming, okay?"

"You got it, Serra."


End file.
